


the virtue of patience

by minigum



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Dry Humping, F/M, Femdom, Gentle femdom, Humiliation, POV Female Character, POV Second Person, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Reader-Insert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-26
Updated: 2019-11-26
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:35:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21559447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/minigum/pseuds/minigum
Summary: Good things came to good boys who waited. He hadn’t, so you’ll make him.
Relationships: Kwon Soonyoung | Hoshi/Reader, Kwon Soonyoung | Hoshi/You
Kudos: 56





	the virtue of patience

‘Soonie, I’m home!’

A beat. That you don’t hear the sound of immediate footsteps preceding Soonyoung’s excitable presence is odd, at least enough to pique your curiosity. Whenever there was the opportunity, your boyfriend hardly ever missed out on greeting you the second he knew you were in the vicinity, doing so with his usual brand of cheek-nuzzling, body-squeezing embraces to mark how much he missed you. (He kisses you after too, of course—that is, if you don’t get there first.)

‘Soonyoung?’ You try again, depositing your bag on a nearby armchair. Maybe he was taking a nap? He could be, but you had also told him to keep an eye on a package that tracking said would arrive today, so that was unlikely. (Plus, you had made him promise not to open it before you got home, so you knew the wait would be killing him.)

Third time’s the charm—he appears in the doorway, and you note that he seems out of breath. ‘You’re back!’ Soonyoung exclaims, pulling you close. He’s warm—not that he isn’t normally, but his body heat feels more present than usual, to the point you’re sure that it would have felt oppressive if you didn’t like him so much.

‘I got back a little while ago,’ you tell him, returning the hug. Had he not heard you?

The question must throw him off a little, because when he responds, he seems a little embarrassed. ‘You got back earlier than I thought you would,’ Soonyoung says, and while the statement itself is innocuous, it strikes you as suspicious, especially combined with his current disposition. He’d always been bad at hiding things from you, after all.

Even so, you don’t let any of your thoughts show, biding your time. If he was in fact in any way guilty, this would only make him squirm, and you were always in favour of making him squirmy. ‘Fair enough,’ is all you give him at first, and when you sense relief and disappointment at your mild answer, it’s safe to conclude you are right on the money.

But you are in a good mood, so while he’s not going to get off scot-free, you do want to indulge him a little. ‘Hey,’ you start, pulling away from him, ‘do you want to cuddle? I could use the energy recharge.’

Of course he does. Within minutes, you’ve laid down on the couch, Soonyoung only allowing you to get in one motioning chest pat before he joins you. Predictably, his head makes a beeline for your boobs, tucking it under your chin, and he sighs the moment he feels the plush softness.

(He’d long since stopped being coy about how much he liked them – at any given point in your sweet home life with him, he’d go for them as often as he could. You didn’t mind per se, but you did tease him about being a Kwon pervert. He protests, sometimes. He seems pleased at others.)

His warmth seeps into you as he settles between your legs. It would be soothing, and you’ve even turned on the television as vague background noise, but he’s a little fidgety. It’s endearing how obvious he is, and when you begin running your hands through his hair, you hear a humming sound in his throat in approval, one hand reaching up to clutch at your shirt.

All the while, you wait. You keep your touch as gentle as possible, as light as possible—if you wound him up too much—which was a very easy thing to do—the game would be over and the atmosphere would be of a very different kind. Nothing unpleasant, only that it was more gratifying to _wait_.

Soonyoung relaxes. With his form melding into yours, with your hands trailing over him, it’s inevitable. When he seems truly at peace, you break the silence with a single, earth-shattering question. ‘So tell me, what were you doing before I came home that had you so out of breath?’

You hear it, then: a sharp intake of breath before his body stiffens. While you don’t stop in your previous motions, you can’t help the amusement that flares up at his reaction – a side effect of your sadistic streak, you’re sure. Soonyoung’s already cute, but you find that when he’s fearful (or rather, not quite fearful, but more so anticipatory of punishment, because he lives to please), he’s the exact kind of cute that makes you want to eat him up.

‘You looked, didn’t you,’ is your coup de grâce. He knows he’s in for it, and you know he does, because Soonyoung’s breathing quickens. ‘Soonie?’

After being found out, he doesn’t bother denying it. ‘…Are you angry?’

‘Baby,’ you coo, ‘of course not. I could never be mad at you.’ And you mean it—you couldn’t be, at least not for something like this. ‘But we had an agreement, didn’t we? Do you remember?’

He must, but your question works twofold. Should he have opened the proverbial pandora’s box, there’d be consequences, but only if he was up for it. (But you knew he was, otherwise he wouldn’t have gone out of his way to disobey your very clear instructions. And knowing him, he did it not out of defiance, but out of a weakness that existed when it came to you.)

Slowly, he nods. When you press him as to what it was, he speaks, but his voice is small, meek even. Soonyoung’s not quite in the headspace of ultimate compliance, but he’s very close, as he often is. ‘You said if I opened it without you… I’d be in trouble.’

‘And?’

‘I… I did. I saw.’

‘Hmm,’ you drag out your response, just to mess with him further. It’s a little cruel, but having him filled with the burning curiosity of what you’re going to do with him brings it out in you. ‘It’s a shame, too. I would’ve liked to use it on you as soon as I got home.’ He would’ve loved to have it used on him as soon as you got home, too.

This has him raise his head, and you turn yours to meet his gaze. ‘You’re not going to?’ There’s a plea in his words, delectable enough you toy with caving, but rules are rules.

‘No, Soonie. You’re going to have to wait.’

Soonyoung whines. He’s well aware of the fact that he can’t protest too much—you’d extend the time he has to be patient otherwise, and Soonyoung was whatever the opposite of patient was. (In this context? Horny, probably.) He well aware, and yet can’t help but protest anyway, because he is nothing but a slave to his desires—and to you, by extension.

‘Please.’ Case in point, the ease in which he pleaded with little regard for pride and the like. It took so little to get him to where he would beg, something that did wonders for your libido. ‘Please, I’ll do anything.’

What a dangerous offer. ‘Anything?’ You repeat, unable to keep a small smile from your lips. He seems to think you’re considering it, at least in his favour, because the returning smile he gives you is hopeful. What he doesn’t know is that you’re in the mood to be _mean_. ‘Are you sure?’

At the question, he raises himself up on his hands, looming over you with his hands on each side of your head. You watch the entire time, fuelled by the simple idea that despite you being below him, you held all the power in this situation, and he wanted it that way. Yes, he tells you, he’s sure. ‘I’m yours,’ Soonyoung continues, and at this, one of his hands takes a hold of your wrist to coax you into touching him. 

Nothing too debaucheric—some part of him must be conscious of the fine line he was toying with, or else he might have made you palm him. (And you would have indulged him if the circumstances were remotely different, had your hand against where he wanted it most to hear him moan into your mouth, but it wasn’t that kind of day. At least not yet. At least not for a while.)

Still, the kiss he gives you is needy. As they often were or were on their way to becoming, because Soonyoung could never quite keep things chaste. Oh, he could certainly try, and would if you asked, but even if he did, he’d always been quick to react and even quicker to want. 

You give him what he wants, matching his enthusiasm as your lips slide and catch on his, laughing a little (he whines) as he tilts his head to deepen the kiss. Greedy, needy boy. The hand he’s moved slides down his body to feel him up, and he makes a pleased sound against your mouth in appreciation, ever in favour of perversity. It was validating for him, after all. 

He makes another noise when you take his bottom lip between your teeth, biting down into a suck. Naturally, the next time you kiss him, it’s the open-mouthed kind, his tongue seeking yours to drag against it. You’re certain if he’d been in a different position, he would’ve already reached out to grope you, but since he can’t, at least without sacrificing some degree of closeness, he presses himself near until your chest is flush with his.

Fortunately, you are not burdened in the same way he is, so it’s not long before you grab handfuls of his ass. He squeaks the moment you do, but that blends into a moan as you use your hold as leverage to make him grind into you. You can’t help a pleasured gasp of your own—even through fabric, he’s hard enough you can feel him where it counts.

To be honest, it would be a simple matter to let things continue like this. It would be all too easy to spend the rest of the afternoon making out and dry humping your boyfriend (and the way he’s rutting into you is certainly persuasive), but it meant forgiving and forgetting how he disobeyed you. Which would certainly set a dangerous precedent.

(But even you can’t deny it does feel good, so you let it last that little bit longer. There’s fun in testing the limits of your own patience, after all, see how long for and how much you can rile yourself up before it becomes unbearable. As it turns out, a while. Boys were just weak. Cute, but weak.)

‘Are you really…’ you trail off for just a short while, because Christ, his hips, ‘…this hard already?’

Soonyoung whines at the question, but you can tell he’s not put off by it, considering his movements have not stopped whatever. They’ve become a smidgen more desperate, if anything, and it bleeds into his next words. ‘I can’t help it…’

‘I’m sure you could if you tried,’ you tease.

‘Not when I’ve been thinking about this all day.’ Not when he’s been thinking about you all day. 

‘ _All_ day?’

Squeezing his eyes shut, he nods. Soonyoung’s speech is a little scattered, gaps filled with huffs and pants, but he tries anyway, because he knows that when you speak to him, you expect an answer. Yes, all day, he confesses. What else were you expecting, when you told him you’d gotten a present for him?

‘I was expecting for you to wait,’ his eyes meet with yours once more when you hold his waist to get him to pause. Your tone isn’t unkind, particularly because you didn’t think he could last anyway. ‘But you couldn’t help yourself, could you?’ Despite the glazed quality of his eyes, he does look a bit ashamed when he shakes his head.

‘Poor baby,’ you lament, mainly for his sake, even if a familiar glint was still present in your gaze. ‘Good things come to good boys who wait, you know?’

‘I’ll be good. I’ll be _good_ , I promise.’

‘…Okay.’

‘Okay?’ He sounds confused, but there’s hope there too. As if there wasn’t a catch. As if you had relented. Good things came to good boys who waited. He hadn’t, so you’ll make him.

‘You said you’ll do anything, right? So take off your clothes.’

Now, Soonyoung’s a pervert, but even he has to blush when you surprise him like that—his cheeks flush pink and he spends a moment just blinking, but when you don’t say anything, he sits up on your thighs to begin shedding his shirt. He fumbles, caught between wanting to please you and a startling lack of composure—you almost feel a little bad for how endearing you find it all.

‘Slow down, Soonie,’ regardless of the nickname, regardless of the gentle note to your voice, it was no doubt an order.

He’s well aware, so after a shaky breath, he obeys. Slowly, he pulls it up and over his head, revealing a sweaty sheen on his skin you ignore the urge to touch. Soonyoung’s forced to get off you and actually stand for his lower half—you sit up and watch as he undoes the button of his jeans, then shucks them off to bare his nice legs and even nicer thighs.

Soonyoung’s just about to hook his fingers into the waistband of his boxers when you stop him, resting your hands over his. ‘Later,’ you tell him. His hands fall to his sides, and after they do, you turn him around and tug him into your lap.

There’s a sigh when you smooth your hands over his thighs. He leans into you, craving the contact, and you allow him that much, dropping a kiss on his shoulder. It isn’t until you reach over to grab the remote that he begins to realise that things weren’t quite what he thought they’d be.

Your name is intonated as a question. Soonyoung cannot see the impishness undertones to your smile from where he’s sitting, but you allow a touch of it to be audible in your next words. ‘I’m going to catch up on Netflix. Be a good boy for me and keep still, okay?’ Is what you ask of him, and he shivers as you whisper it into his ear.

The breath he exhales is more of a shaky whimper. You know there’s a complaint within it, namely one born out of his neediness, but he didn’t voice it in fear of drawing your ire—or, worse yet, a lack of touch—any further. ‘Y…Yes…’

And bless his heart, he tries his best. The more sentimental part of you does dwell on how hard it must be for him – at any given point in time, Soonyoung craved your touch and attention, so that you’re giving him the barest amount of both (that he’d no doubt eat up regardless, because some was better than, shock horror, none at all) must make his body ache for more. More warmth, more affection, more of _you_. As much as you could give him. 

Still, this sentimentality is not the kind that would have you letting him get off (haha) scot free. You’re not one to forgo cruelty if it’s well-earnt, and in his case, he knew what he was doing.

To his credit, he doesn’t protest when he sees you’ve picked a movie. Neither does he push his luck when your fingers begin stroking his thigh—in what seems to be an absentminded manner. He’s wants so badly to be good for you and you’re going to derail his efforts, because you weren’t about to make it easy for him. What kind of punishment would that be?

So you wait to strike. You wait, up until the romantic leads meet before you decide to blow on the nape of his neck. Soonyoung jolts in response and you hum in curiosity as if you’re not responsible. It’s a low-blow considering the facts (that he’s touch-starved, that he’s sensitive), but he’s not in the remote place to point it out. ‘Is something wrong?’ At _wrong_ , you brush your lips against him, mouthing it _just so_ so you hardly make contact at all.

But it’s enough, at least for the moment. His stuttered _no_ tells you as much.

After all, for the next few hours, you planned on using him as little else outside of a something to fiddle with while your mental focus was elsewhere—a glorified toy, in other words, with perhaps more wicked intent with how you were going to play. Because you were going to take your merry damn time.

It’s small, innocuous things, at first—you run a hand through his hair, fingers threading through the soft strands, nails the tiniest of scratches on his scalp. A sharp breath escapes him when your next gentle hair stroke blends into a tug. But then you de-escalate, resuming your previous gentleness.

When your hands grow bored with that, you move to feel warm skin, with the caveat (at least for him) of keeping it as chaste as he wishes it wasn’t. Your fingers trail to his shoulders, run down the length of his back (his spine arches then quickly stiffens, fearing the consequences, but you find the sight cute and decide not to rebuke him), and squeeze at his thighs before retreating entirely.

The sound he makes when your touch disappears is whiny, borderline desperate even, as if parting was the greatest sorrow you could give him. ‘Patience, baby,’ is as far as your admonishment goes. You knew it wasn’t intentional, after all, and it would be a bit too mean if you were too harsh on him for something he couldn’t help.

‘You’re doing so well, okay?’ You reach up to pet him, and he presses into your hand. ‘We’re halfway through, so can you keep sitting still for me?’ At his shaky nod, you continue, ‘Good boy.’

Soonyoung’s head bows a little in response, and you don’t need to see his face to know it’s flushed with pleasure. He preens at the praise, as he always does—there’s a lot Soonyoung could endure, so long as you sweet-talked him through it, even if what you were doing was anything but sweet.

Shortly after, you resume your act of watching the movie. You’d picked a boring, generic romcom for the express purpose of making it harder for the both of you, and it works. It does, because not long after, your hands reach around to drag your fingertips across his front. The entire thing is excruciatingly slow—you keep him on edge the whole time, up until your thumb dips underneath the waistband of his boxers.

He’s holding his breath. So you gently pull at his waistband with your thumb until it snaps back in place. His shoulders sag and he makes another noise of complaint, but doesn’t push his luck any further. Soonyoung would plead if he could, and it’s far too easy to see the anguish that often drove him to pleading present and obvious in his reactions.

Eventually, pity and impatience win out enough you brush your hand where he wants it most. Soonyoung involuntarily bucks the second you make contact, his resulting moan just as involuntary. He remembers himself when you say his name, and you feel a tenseness in his legs as he fights the urge to seek more friction.

A valiant effort, and one you reward a while later when you draw a single finger down his clothed cock. You can tell he’s at the point where he’s already leaking, and while this makes you want to blow him, you disregard this impulse for now in favour of teasing.

In feather light, barely-there strokes, you work your way up to jerking him off, never applying the kind of pressure he ached for. Of course, he cannot sit still for long, and when you give him a questioning _Soonie_ , he explodes—not in anger, but in frustration, and of the purely sinful kind. Please, he begs, he couldn’t possibly stay still when you’re touching him like that, not when he’s so starved for your touch.

And he makes for a good point. ‘You’re right,’ you agree, before withdrawing your hand. He mourns the loss. ‘Get up for me for a second, okay?’ When he does, you hop up from the couch.

‘Wait,’ and his voice seems so small, ‘where are you going?’

For a moment, you relish in how cute he is before moving to reassurance. ‘I’ll be just a sec, okay?’ When he blinks up at you, you smile, reaching forward to hold his chin between a thumb and forefinger, tilting his head upwards. ‘Mind presenting yourself for me in the meantime?’ There’s the dip of his Adam’s apple before he nods. His eyes are glazed over and gloriously vacant, but even then, you can spot the lustful understanding within the depths.

It’s further proven when you come back with a small bottle and he’s on his elbows and knees, ass up and face pressed to the couch cushions. If the situation was lighter in tone, you’re sure he would have wiggled his butt in your direction as soon as you returned, but your torment has pushed him into a state of absolute pliancy.

‘You’ve prepared yourself, right?’ It’s a needless question in the sense that you already knew he would have considering what he was expecting to happen when you got home, but it at least works as a forewarning to what you were planning next. Three spurts of a lotion pump and your hand fills with slick liquid, and you rub your thumb against your other fingers until they’re sufficiently covered.

Once again, Soonyoung nods, quicker this time. His breathing comes out in airy pants, eager for what’s to come.

You don’t bother taking his boxers off completely. Soonyoung gasps when you yank them down just enough to expose his ass, but when he begins shifting to shed himself of them, you hold him in place with a gentle hand, using the one not covered in anything. ‘Stay like that for me?’ you command him, even if your voice is tender.

The noise he makes, little else but a throat hum, is one you take in assent.

Before you apply the lube anywhere else, you sneak in one grope that’s forceful enough to spread his cheeks, earning a moan of approval. And then you get to work.

Wet fingers sliding against him, you put in a meticulous amount of effort into readying him, both to make sure he is ready and to torment him a little more. He’d have long since starting pleading for you to get inside him already if he wasn’t worried if a slight misstep would get you to stop. As a result, he has to be patient. He has to be good. 

‘So,’ you begin. Your tone is light, casual, at a complete contrast to Soonyoung’s current state. ‘What did you think of your present?’

‘Big...’ It’s a simple answer, primitive even, but you don’t fault him for it, knowing how difficult it must be for him to think beyond his dick. ‘So big…’ Now, you loved your boyfriend, and while he had his clear instances of foolishness, he wasn’t stupid. That being said, him being reduced to little else but a dumb slut was the kind of thing that made it impossible for you not to be soaked through.

‘Did you use it?’ Despite your question, you’re cruel enough to make him lose his train of thought by deciding at this point to slide your fingers home. There’s another sharp inhale, his body jolting when your fingers move into a warm vice, but then he relaxes, far too used to the intrusion to the point where he craved it almost always at moments like these.

‘Soonyoung,’ you press, once you’re in knuckle-deep with a single finger. His expression, even if it flickers with some vague recognition of his name, lacks remote coherency, long since stolen with your working hands. ‘Did you use it?’ You try, once again.

One of his hands reaches towards his face to wipe at the drool trailing down his chin. Messy. It’s hot. ‘No… I didn’t.’ He’s slurring in his pleasure a tad, something you knew would only get worse overtime. ‘I promise—!’ Soonyoung’s sentence trails off into a huff when your finger begins moving. Slowly.

‘Why not?’ You probe him—as if you weren’t already doing so. ‘You saw it, right? Why not fuck yourself with it, Soonie?’

‘Didn’t… _ghh_ , didn’t want to…’

‘No? Does that mean you don’t want me to fuck you with it, either?’

‘No!’ His protest is immediate, desperate, revealingly quick of his thoughts. He tightens around you. ‘No, please, I want you to fuck me so bad. Plea—’ A well-timed thrust has him crying out. What a good meal for the sadist inside you, you think, as you return to your slower pace, avoiding where he wanted your fingers the most.

‘So why didn’t you use it?’

‘W… Wanted to wait. Wanted you to fill me— _ah_ —’ Two fingers. His voice cracks when he moans out.

‘Like I am now?’ You spread out your fingers in a scissoring motion to stretch him out.

‘Nnrgh,’ you can hear him frantically searching for the response—you knew he craved bigger, but he didn’t want to be ungrateful and risk losing your touch completely. It’s cute, watching him struggle in between a rock and a hard dick. You understand. You’re always understanding.

‘You can be honest,’ you tell him, leaning forward. ‘I won’t blame you for it, Soonie.’

Pressing your front to his back and folding your body over his, your fingers finally search that one spot inside him. You know you’ve found it when his body jerks with a squeak. ‘Tell me?’ Despite your interrogation, you don’t let up, your fingers relentlessly massaging with undeniable insistence.

Unsurprisingly, he’s not able to reply at first, at least not outside of incoherence. You make it even harder when your free hand, not busy inside him, returns to palming him through his boxers, a clear goal in mind. His constant muffled sounds, bracketing the very common moments where you get him to make noise, go from cute little _mmf_ s and _nnhmn_ s to strings of _ah ah AH_ , and your heart fucking races at how much you want to ruin him.

‘Coming!’ He yells out, and there’s panic, because he doesn’t know if he can, not when this is his clear punishment.

You let him. He’s behaved well enough.

Soonyoung peaks with a chain of increasingly disjointed thank yous. His gratitude lasts throughout, and his commitment to expressing it is the kind a believer would have for their benevolent goddess. He’s so grateful.

Soon after, the room fills with two things: Soonyoung’s panting and the song from the ending credits of the movie the both of you had forgotten. His body folds under the weight of his orgasm, something you knew would happen, so you had stood up straight and removed your fingers before it did. Still, you remain close, pulling him in your lap—only he’s facing you this time.

In enough of a sub-space you have to coax him out of it, you spend the next few tens of minutes lavishing him with gentle affection. A hand trails down his back as you coo words of encouragement, and you focus on bringing Soonyoung back to present. Given that you didn’t put him in too deep of this sort of mentality, it doesn’t take as long as it sometimes could.

Sometime later, he’s back, and when you confirm he is, you make a call-back. ‘You still haven’t answered my question.’

The look he’d been giving you makes you feel holy, even if everything you did to him was anything but. At the question, his cheeks flush. His hand fiddles with the hemline of your shirt, and when he responds, he sounds almost pouty, which was very much like him. ‘I wanted you to use our new toy on me,’ Soonyoung murmurs. Which would have more than done the trick of filling him, and he was a size queen.

‘Maybe in a week.’

He doesn’t hide his disappointment, wailing in an exaggerated way that you know is a joke but also isn’t. It makes you laugh. ‘Can’t… can’t you cut it down… even just a bit…?’ Just short of saying please, even though you knew he would if you asked him to beg any more than he already was.

‘Hm…’ you hum in thought, looking contemplative. ‘Maybe. Depends on how well you behave in the next few days.’

Without any other choice—lest he wanted you to extend the wait even further—Soonyoung agrees. ‘Okay.’

‘Good boy.’ He smiles at that, even if it’s with bashful glee. ‘Now, lets get you cleaned up, okay?’

‘Does that mean you’re showering with me?’

You narrow your eyes in mild distrust. His tone is innocent, but you know your insatiable boyfriend better than whatever that tone implied. ‘Yes, but I’m _just_ showering with you. Nothing else, okay?’

‘‘Kay.’

‘I mean it, Soonyoung. I have to get started on dinner after. It’s my turn, remember?’

‘Mm-hm! I understand.’

And to his (admittedly very little) credit, it is just a shower—at first. It’s cute when he steps into the stream of water first, running it cold enough he does squeal a bit to get rid of the mess before turning the taps to something warmer and more bearable. It’s cute when you wash his hair for him, head massage included, and he sighs at the feeling. It’s cute when you dab a bit of shampoo foam on his nose and he goes cross-eyed looking at it, grinning when you giggle at him. It is.

Less cute is when he pulls you close enough you can feel his body against yours, arms wrapping around your waist. He sways you in his arms, humming cheerfully.

‘What are you planning?’ 

‘Nothing~’ His voice is a cute sing song, and he is still grinning adorably at you. You don’t believe him for a second. ‘I just love you.’

‘I love you too.’ It’s genuine, even despite your obvious suspicion.

(As it turns out, your fears are somewhat founded, because before long, Soonyoung’s coaxed his way into eating you out.)

**Author's Note:**

> As a wise woman once said, ‘Kwon Soonyoung would own a bad dragon dildo but you didn't hear that from me.’


End file.
